


Cover Version

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: Led Zeppelin, Whitesnake - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance, wistfulness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 13:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'Could you perhaps write something romantic and wistful with Jimmy Page and David Coverdale during their collaboration in the early 90s? I always found David's resemblance in appearance and singing with Robert Plant so... well, romantic and wistful. Thank you!'Hell yeah I can.





	

He tries to remember how it was, and finds that he doesn’t have to overstretch; in fact, he doesn’t stretch far enough, leaving his memory cramped and uncomfortable.

Wherever they are-

 _David laughs and turns to him in the studio, and it floors him so neatly that it feels like he’s been punched in the stomach, and he cannot smile back but instead stare, rabbit-in-the-headlights, as David turns back, laughing to somebody else now about ‘Pagey spacing out’_.

-whatever they’re doing-

_“Jimmy?” Jimmy looks up over the breakfast table and his heart stops, almost; it’s a moment before he remembers who is sat opposite him, shower of blond ringlets in his face, sleepily blinking those eyes._

-he just can’t stop.

_It was the eyes that made him realise every time._

And god, he wants to stop.

David’s eyes were brown – amber, when the light hit them, shot through like fire and bourbon, and when he’d first looked into them, he’d found himself fascinated by their warmth.

Over time, however, he had discovered that David was a hot water bottle, and whilst a hot water bottle should not, and mostly does not burn you, it was no match for the crackle of a live fire.

Rob’s eyes had been every colour.

That’s the beauty of hazel eyes, Jimmy thinks, as he watches David scribble something down. It’s not that he doesn’t love David – well, he isn’t in love, by any mark, but he does love him, in the way that you’d love anyone who’d done what David had, which was walk in and give him a sense of purpose, _fill a hole if you will_ , snark snark – but…

_“Pagey, what will we do today?”_

_Jimmy looked up from the table and smiled as Robert’s deep, dark eyes watched the storm outside. They had been as grey as the clouds when they had woken up. Now, he could’ve fallen into them for hours._

_“I’ve got a few ideas, Percy,” he murmured, and a slow smile spread across Rob’s face as he turned to look back at him. “Just a few-”_

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy blinks, and David is in front of him, and he remembers to smile this time.

He would just have to get the taste of the fountain of immortality out of his mouth, and get used to the taste of bourbon instead. A hot water bottle was better than a cold bed… he supposed.

He kisses David, and smiles. He means it, too. Almost.


End file.
